The Unlikely Tales
by Babbitty Rabbitty
Summary: Ron Weasley, Dolores Umbridge. Who would've thought the two would end up together? As for Mrs Figg, Dobby, Mundungus ... who will their matches be? Find out in this series of highly Unlikely Tales.
1. Ron and Umbridge

Disclaimer: All characters belong to J K Rowling

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"Oh, my sweet Dolores. How beautiful you are. Oh my goodness, Professor…!" These awestruck sentiments fell from his lips as Professor Umbridge held him, sublime in her shortness, pink cardigan fluffed up on end as he clutched it fervently. He could feel her small, sharp nails stroking his cheek. Her short fingers were clammy, cold and soft. But it was a good feeling… 

Ron woke up.

And he was more than slightly scared. What the heck had he been dreaming? No, he knew what he had been dreaming. He just didn't want to admit it. A romantic session in a broom cupboard with – with – he didn't want to allow her name into his thoughts. The implications of his dream were worrying. The more worrying thing was that he knew, even as he struggled to keep the thought from his mind, that it had been a very, very pleasant dream.

"Whoa, enough!" Ron said aloud. The outburst was involuntary. He heard Seamus stir in the four poster beside him. Harry was still fast asleep, it seemed. It was only four in the morning, after all.

Ron slipped out of bed and crept past the other boys' sleeping forms, over to the window. The moonlight cast weird shadows at this early hour, and bathed in its ghostly light, the Hogwarts grounds looked strangely unreal. Trying to be quiet, he dipped his hand gently into the silver jug balanced on the windowsill and splashed his face with water, trying to wash away the remnants of that dream.

It didn't work. He ended up going back to bed, still with a rather comforting image in his mind of Dolores Umbridge, former and hated teacher at Hogwarts, holding him to her soft body…

"Ron?"

Harry was standing over him, and he looked grim. Of course, he rarely looked happy nowadays, not since the war had ended. So Voldemort was dead, and Harry had increased his fame tenfold, if that were possible – but since Ginny had died, his friend was just not the same. The three of them - he, Harry and Hermione - had returned to Hogwarts to complete their education, having only missed a few months of their seventh year, but Harry's heart was not truly in his studies.

Yet today Harry looked grimmer than usual.

"Yeah?" said Ron sleepily, rubbing his eyes. He had an uneasy feeling that he had just been woken from a similar dream to the one he'd had in the middle of the night.

"Bad news. Umbridge is back."

Ah, Fate.

"Wh – what?" stuttered Ron, feeling his heart give an involuntary leap and trying to pretend that hadn't happened. "Nah, that can't be true … " he trailed off.

"She arrived last night. I saw her walking past the Fat Lady this morning … ugly as ever," he ended bitterly.

"But why?"

"Filling in for Slughorn till he gets over his dragonpox … but honestly – of all the teachers we could've had, we get that fat old toad."

"She's not a –" Ron stopped himself – what was he doing? Defending her? "I mean … yeah. Bad luck. When's our first class with her?" The eager question slipped out before he thought.

"It's our lucky day," said Harry, not noticing Ron's slightly odd behaviour. "First thing this morning."

The Potions classroom had changed dramatically since Horace Slughorn had left it the night before. The students filed in slowly, identical expressions of revulsion appearing on their faces.

For the entire room was pink. Hearts and flowers adorned the walls, and several posters of singing house elves dressed in pink togas were plastered on the wall.

"Nice," said Hermione as she joined Ron and Harry in the classroom.

"_Hem, hem_." Dolores Umbridge entered the room, a sugary smile on her toad-like face.

Harry shuddered at this familiar cough. Ron had once hated it too, but now … why, he thought he could listen to it a little more. Just another sweet little cough? He found himself strangely disappointed when Umbridge did not oblige.

The lesson progressed in a kind of haze for Ron. He could not keep his mind on the essay they had been set (Explain the Magical Properties of a Stupor-Inducing Draught). Instead his eyes kept wandering over to the teachers desk, where Umbridge sat complacently scratching away at some parchment with a long, fluffy pink quill.

Once or twice she glanced up at the class, and caught him looking at her. She frowned at first. Then she looked disconcerted, and seemed about to rise from her seat. But she changed her mind.

The fifth time, however, Ron could have sworn she blushed, and he hastily lowered his eyes back to him parchment, resolving to keep them there.

At the end of the lesson she dismissed the class, then as if on an impulse she called out sweetly, "Oh and Mr Weasley, I did not notice you doing much work. Please stay behind so we can arrange your detention."

Ron's heart sank. She was displeased with him. Perhaps that blush had been imagined.

He approached her with a long face, though as he got close he suddenly realised the benefits of being in trouble with her. Togther, alone, together … the words played over and over in his head, and he felt slightly dizzy as he inhaled Umbridge's sickly perfume.

"Now, my dear," intoned Umbridge sweetly. "I believe you have something you wanted to say to me?"

Ron could see Harry waiting outside the door, but as Dolores' hand reached out to rest on his own, he felt as though an electric shock had passed through him. All thought of Harry was forgotten. She was touching him! They were close!

"Well, my boy … it seems from your gaze this morning that you would perhaps like a detention like this," said Dolores quietly, stroking his neck. Ron felt himself melt. To his amazement, he saw his own repressed feelings reflected in the squat woman's shallow eyes. Harry was looking at them quizzically through the door, and Umbridge noticed. She drew Ron into the Potions cupboard, and continued her attentions.

"Or perhaps like this…?" she murmured, laying her soft hands on his chest.

"Ah…" murmured Ron. "It's my dream!"

He dissolved under her caresses.

"Oh, Dolly…"

Ten minutes later, a very dishevelled Ron walked out of the door to meet his puzzled friends. Their expressions turned from confusion to suspicion and then to horror as they noticed the pink lipstick kisses plastered over his face.

It had been a very interesting detention.

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	2. Mrs Figg and Neville

**Disclaimer: Characters belong to J K Rowling.**

_A/N: This is unconnected to the previous Unlikely Tale. It is AU, and they are in Sixth Year. Thank you my brilliant reviewers, who inspired me to write more of these Tales! Any more ideas for weird and wonderful pairings would be welcome!_

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"Finally!" said Ron with relief as he laid down his quill on top of his finished essay (_Badly-Cast Animagi Transformations Spells and their Gruesome Effect: Explain Why There Are Laws Against It_). The Gryffindor students had just reached the end of their last class before the Christmas holidays, and an audible sigh of relief rippled around the classroom. Professor McGonagall peered at her seventh-year students over the top of her spectacles. 

"I hope that was a sigh of disappointment that you will not have any Transfiguration classes for three weeks!" she said crisply, though the corners of her mouth twitched.

"Have a good Christmas, all of you," she added, raising her voice as the class stampeded out of the door.

Harry's heart sank. He'd always spent the Christmas holidays either at Hogwarts or at the Burrow with Ron and sometimes Hermione. But this year, he had to go back to the Dursleys' for the holidays.

Harry hadn't had a Christmas with them since he was ten years old, something for which he'd always been profoundly thankful. Unfortunately, the Dursleys had told him (with extreme reluctance) that he had to stay at Privet Drive for the holidays. Aunt Marge was coming for Christmas dinner, and had particularly requested Harry to be there. (She took great delight in criticising Harry in every way possible, and it was no good telling her that Harry was spending Christmas at the school she believed he went to, as St Brutus' was not a boarding school.) The Dursleys wished to avoid any awkward questions.

"I'm not going to have a good Christmas." Harry looked round as Neville Longbottom's voice spoke glumly in his ear. "I'm always stuck with my gran for three weeks, it's torture. " He sighed as though he carried the world upon his shoulders, then trudged off gloomily down the corridor.

"Hey," said Harry slowly, the beginnings of an idea coming to him. "Hey, Neville!"

He had been struck by an inspiration. Neville turned.

"How would you like to spend Christmas with me at Privet Drive?" said Harry, the words tumbling out in his eagerness. If Neville were there, at least he would have someone to talk to – Christmas wouldn't be half as bad! And the Dursleys' could hardly refuse, seeing as he was obliging them by coming back for Christmas in the first place.

"Spend – with you?" said Neville slowly, his round face slowly lighting up with surprise and joy. "Wow, Harry! That would be amazing – and my gran would be really pleased, she's always worried because I never go to visit any friends."

"Come back with me," said Harry firmly, "And we'll have a great Christmas."

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The next day, he and Neville got off the Hogwarts Express at King's Cross station and pushed their way through the magical barrier at Platform Nine and Three Quarters. It was with great satisfaction that Harry saw the wary, then horrified expressions appear on his aunt, uncle and cousin's faces as they realised that they were not only going to be lodging one wizard in their house over Christmas, but two. 

"Just what do you think you're playing at?" hissed Uncle Vernon, as Harry reached him. "We're not taking that one in also! It's bad enough with you!"

"Fine," said Harry nonchalantly, turning back towards the platform. "We'll go back to stay at Hogwarts and you can explain to Aunt Marge why I'm not here."

A few minutes later, a furious but powerless Uncle Vernon was speeding down the motorway back to Little Whinging, a terrified Dudley squashed between Harry and Neville in the car passenger seat.

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As Harry had foreseen, Christmas at Privet Drive with Neville was ten times better than without. The Dursleys avoided them both, and tended to exit any room they entered very quickly. Normally this would have depressed or at least slightly irritated Harry, but when he had Neville to talk to, it didn't bother him in the least. Aunt Marge arrived and, as usual, treated Harry as though he were something rather nasty she'd discovered on the sole of her shoe, but Harry stoically ignored her. 

They were all sitting round the kitchen table watching television on Christmas Eve when the phone rang. Aunt Petunia went out to answer it, and returned with her face a little more pinched than normal. She pressed her hand against the mouthpiece and hissed, "Vernon, it's Mrs Figg. She wants to know if she can come for Christmas dinner."

"Why?" said Uncle Vernon, his beefy face assuming an annoyed expression. "Can't she eat with her cats like she usually does?"

"One of her cats – Mr Tibby or whatever it was called – got run over by a Land Rover this morning. I think she's lonely."

"Oh very well, whatever," said Uncle Vernon dismissively. "While we've got two oddballs here, why not have another." He glared at Harry and Neville, the two 'oddballs', who both continued spooning stew into their mouths as though they hadn't heard. Neville was really becoming very good at letting the Dursleys' comments bounce off him.

Harry awoke on Christmas morning to see Neville still fast asleep and a wonderful swirling storm of snowflakes waltzing outside his window. Everything had turned a dazzling white, turning even the grim Privet Drive beautiful.

Mrs Figg arrived as Dudley was unwrapping his fifty-seventh Christmas present (a flashy new motorcycle helmet).

Harry had already opened his presents from Neville, Ron, Hermione, Mrs Weasley and Hagrid. And he just so happened to be looking at Neville when Mrs Figg shuffled through the door in her carpet slippers. Her grey hair was wispy as ever and she was clutching a large pot of cranberry sauce.

"I thought you might want this – for the turkey," she quavered, holding out the pot to Aunt Petunia, who took it gingerly, noting a large cat hair stuck to one side.

Neville's reaction to Mrs Figg's entrance had been really quite interesting. He had looked up curiously as the door to the living room opened, and Harry saw his eyes widen. Well, Mrs Figg was quite an eccentric person to look at. Her glasses were currently dangling from her neck by a knotty string of wool. But behind the battiness, she really had quite a kind face. A sweet, gentle face.

"Oh!" she said, as she saw Neville gazing at her, his mouth slightly open. "I don't think I've seen you before, my dear!"

At the words 'my dear', Neville flushed pink and stumbled over his reply.

"I – I'm Nevish, I mean Neville, Neville Longbottom."

"What a beautiful name!" beamed Mrs Figg, and Neville's flush deepened.

"You know, you really look rather like my fiancée, Theodore," she said softly, gazing at Neville wistfully. "He was killed in the war but you, you remind me of him … Ah, my darling Theo … " and she sighed. But from that moment on she stole little covert glances at Neville whenever she thought nobody was looking.

The Christmas dinner was rather an interesting affair. Harry, who was wondering what on earth was going on between Neville and his old neighbour, with alarm that Neville was giving off little outbursts of uncontrolled magic. His peas rolled around on his plate, neglected, as Neville raised his empty fork to his mouth and missed it. The peas then arranged themselves into the form of a heart. Harry stared at Neville's plate in confusion. He was slightly scared. Then he noticed Aunt Marge also giving the plate an odd look.

"Why, Vernon!" she boomed, patting his arm. "Just look! I could have sworn those peas moved –"

"Hey, Neville!" said Harry hastily, nudging Neville arm very hard so that his fork dashed across the pea-heart, breaking it up. "Why don't you tell Mrs Figg about that time when you … "

When the peas had been forgotten, Harry wiped his sweaty forehead on his sleeve. But the ordeal was not over.

"My poor Mr Tibbles," sniffed Mrs Figg. "Not looking where he was going, the dear thing, and got crushed under the wheels of a horrible great motor car … "

Vernon Dursley just looked impatient, and Harry felt rather awkward, but Neville then did a most surprising thing. He reached hesitatingly across the table and gently patted Mrs Figg's old, papery hand.

"It's okay … " he said comfortingly.

But at the first touch of Neville's hand, Arabella Figg blushed rosy pink. She suddenly looked sweet, and girlish.

"Oh, my dear Theodore – I mean, Neville! You are kind," she gave him a watery smile. Harry could have sworn her eyelashes batted, and he looked with growing alarm and suspicion between his friend and his elderly neighbour …

That afternoon, Harry experienced one of the rather more traumatic moments of his life. Neville had disappeared from the living room while they all took tea and biscuits, saying he needed the bathroom. Shortly afterwards, Mrs Figg rose and dusted herself down.

"Thank you so much for having me, but I really must be going!" she said in her quivery old voice. "I'll see myself out … " The Dursleys nodded their curt good-byes.

"Thank God," muttered Uncle Vernon when she had gone. "Crazy old bat."

A quarter of an hour later, Neville still hadn't returned, and Harry, slightly worried about his friend, slipped out of the room. He could hear noises in the bathroom, sounds of sighing and others he couldn't identify. Harry was anxious – was Neville crying in there?

"Neville?" called Harry softly through the keyhole. "You okay?" Harry knew Neville would be embarrassed to be seen crying, but as the snuffling sounds from within the bathroom only intensified, Harry thought he should probably go in and try to help.

So Harry quietly turned the door handle and entered the room. What he saw made his stomach turn over in shock.

Mrs Figg and Neville were kissing each other passionately in the middle of the bathroom at Number Four, Privet Drive. Harry froze with horror, gaping at the scene before him, but the two were so involved they hadn't even noticed his entrance. Mrs Figg's papery, wrinkled cheeks were pressed lovingly against Neville's and his chubby hands tugged her grey hair affectionately. Harry blinked, trying to clear his vision of the sight he beheld. But alas, when his eyes re-opened the couple were still there, solidly real as ever.

What – the – hell. They barely knew each other! They had only seen each other for the first time a couple of hours ago!

A small noise of disbelief and amazement squeaked involuntarily from Harry's mouth. "Wh - huh?"

Neville, busily engaged in burying his head in Mrs Figg's tatty old cardigan with a contented sigh, heard nothing, but Mrs Figg's eyes opened and for a second she met Harry's astounded gaze. But she didn't seem at all embarrassed at being caught. Instead, to Harry's ever-increasing astonishment and indignation, she gave him a tiny, saucy wink.

Harry finally came to his senses and realised just how badly he was intruding (standing about two feet away from the couple and gawking unreservedly at them) and as he exited the room in a kind of daze, he could have sworn he heard Mrs Figg's tender tones murmur – "Oh, Theodore!"


	3. Hermione and Dobby

Disclaimer: Jo Rowling wrote this. (_Author gets Veritaserum shoved down throat_) Okay, okay, no she didn't and all characters belong to her :)

**Well, enjoy – dun-dun-DUN! the third Unlikely Tale: _Hermione and Dobby_.**

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"You're useless, both of you! We'll never get anywhere unless you two actually _do_ something!" Hermione slammed her palm down on the table room at which they were sat in the Gryffindor common one evening. Ron and Harry exchanged exasperated glances, and Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Ron, you're Treasurer, right? So where are our collection boxes?" 

"Er –" said Ron, evidently not having the faintest idea.

"Exactly. Harry, you are Secretary, believe it or not, and have been for two years. Have you ever made any notes? At all?"

Harry sighed. "Hermione, you know, me and Ron, well - you must have realised by now that we're not – we don't –"

"Think that a society dedicated to the well-being and freedom of your personal _slaves_ is worth your time?" Hermione's lips were pressed in a thin line, and Harry continued with caution.

"Hermione, will you ever believe that they are happy where they are? They're house elves, they really do love to work - it's in their nature."

Ron chimed in, "You know, maybe you should just give up on _spew_ and do something worthwhile with your life, Hermione."

Hermione made an animal noise of frustration. "It's S – P – E – W, Ron!" she yelled, so loud that Ron, forgetting he was sitting down, tried to back away, and nearly tumbled backwards off his dangerously wobbling chair as a consequence. As he desperately scrabbled for a handhold, Hermione burst into tears, and in an angry fit of pique pushed Ron's chair hard with both hands, knocking it over entirely.

Ron picked himself off the floor, dazed, as the other Gryffindors chuckled and Hermione fled the room, covering her face with trembling fingers.

Hermione walked with quick, distressed strides in no particular direction, half-blinded by the tears that still welled from her eyes. She barely noticed Nearly Headless Nick as he floated past her, and did not reply to his concerned, "Why my dear, are you quite all right?" She just kept walking, and walking, until she found herself in a part of the castle that she had never been in before.

"It's just – not – fair!" she choked, through gritted teeth, half-furious at herself for being so weak to cry. "They never understand how important this is." And she continued to walk angrily along the dark corridor and into what she vaguely perceived as being old dungeons. There was solitude here, no one to mock her, and Hermione flung herself onto the stone floor, drawing up her knees to her chest, and sobbed heartily into her robes.

"Oh, Miss! Does something be the matter, Miss?" A small voice squeaked in her ear, and Hermione jumped in shock, hitting out instinctively at the figure that had appeared so suddenly and silently beside her.

The house-elf squeaked in pain as her hand collided with its head, and Hermione gasped.

"Oh, no! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you _–" A fine supporter of elf-rights I am_, Hermione though to herself furiously, as she drew out her wand and performed a small Healing charm that soothed the little elf's stinging cheek.

"I'm sorry," she said again, and the elf beamed.

"No worries, Miss! Miss be very kind to care about a little elf like Flimpy!"

Hermione had stopped crying by now, though there were still drying tear-tracks running down either side of her face, and Flimpy looked at them sympathetically.

"Can I help Miss, Miss?" she squeaked hopefully, her big round eyes blinking up at her.

"It's okay, I'm fine now, er, Flimpy. Where –where is this?"

For as Hermione took in her surroundings clearly, she saw that this was a small, dark, disused dungeon, tucked away forlornly in the depths of the great castle.

"This, Miss? This be where we live, Miss! Just through this door, Miss - this be house-elf sleeping-quarters!"

"You live _here_?" said Hermione in horror, looking around at the cramped stone room. "Why, this is awful!"

"No, Miss, look here, this be where we are!" And little Flimpy pulled Hermione through the tiny door – Hermione had to stoop low – and into the house-elf domain.

There were rows upon rows of tiny beds, little washstands neatly arranged along the wall, a small rug at the base of every one. As soon as Hermione entered the room, there was an explosion of delighted chatter.

Beaming house-elves scurried to her side; several hugged her about the knees, and a multitude of voices proclaimed their delight to have a student visit them in their humble abode.

"Why has you come to visit us, Miss?" cried a tiny house elf with especially large ears. "We never has had students down here before!"

And then Hermione saw her chance – no Ron and Harry looking uncomfortable beside her, scared that she was going to start telling the elves about their rights. She had done it before, but had always held back, conscious that she had no support. But now, now Harry and Ron had shown their complete disdain for SPEW, well, she would go about it by herself! She would help these elves gain the freedom she was positive they would love, and she would let them know all their entitlements as magical creatures!

"Listen to me, all," she said in a clear, carrying voice. "I came today to bring you wonderful news." The elves looked up at her as one, eyes shining in eager anticipation and delight.

"I came to tell you all that you elves do not have to slave away to your selfish masters, you need not spend your lives cooking and cleaning and scrubbing, for what sort of a life is that? You could be happy, you could be independent – you could be _free_!"

Oblivious to the elves dismayed faces, Hermione twirled her wand once in the air, with a glorious sense of deliverance, and conjured a small item of clothing in mid-air. She held it up before the eyes of the horrified crowd.

"Now, who wants a sock?"

There was instant uproar, as the elves instinctively shrank backwards, crying out, as far away from the sock as possible.

"No, you don't understand," cried Hermione desperately. "It is wonderful to be free, you just don't know it because you have always been under the chains of bondage! See now, one among you taste the sweetness of liberty – I will show you! Do not be afraid!"

And she tossed the sock into the terrified huddle of elves. Little bodies threw themselves left and right, squealing with fear, and the sock fell harmlessly to the floor. Silence – and then, an instant later, there was pandemonium. The elves threw themselves as one on Hermione, pushing and hitting her with their little fists as they had done once before, until she was thrown from the room entirely. She immediately felt drained, hopeless, wracked with both disappointment and guilt; she had not meant to frighten them so. She felt terrible for scaring the little creatures for which she felt such affection.

A sad sigh from the corner distracted her from her gloomy thoughts, and Hermione turned to see Dobby sitting huddled in a corner.

"Why, Dobby, whatever is the matter? Have you been here all this time?"

Dobby stared at her from mournful eyes, big and sparkling green. "No, Miss," he mumbled. "Dobby is only just getting here, Miss, but he is afraid to return to his dormitory, Miss."

"Why, Dobby? What are you afraid of?"

Dobby bowed his head, his bat ears drooping. "The other elves are not liking Dobby, Miss. They are thinking that Dobby is a bad influence on Winky and is a disgrace to them because he is free now, and they is saying that Dobby – that Dobby is a bad elf."

"Oh, Dobby," said Hermione sympathetically, moving over to sit beside the tiny elf. A huge tear welled up in one of Dobby's eyes, and trickled down his long, pencil-like nose.

"Dobby is hearing Miss talk to the other house elves, Miss, and he is pleased that Miss believes too that freedom is not a bad thing, but he wishes that his friends too believed that!"

"Of course it's not a bad thing!" said Hermione indignantly. "Don't you worry about what they say, Dobby. You alone of house elves know how wonderful it is to be free. Enjoy your freedom while you can."

But Dobby still looked miserable, and after a while, Hermione slipped an arm around his thin, jumper-laden body, and gave him a small hug. Dobby clung to her arm as though it was the one thing that could save him, and soon Hermione found that she had taken the elf up in the arms entirely, and was cuddling him, rocking him, soothing him.

"Dobby is afraid that his friends will never like Dobby no more!" sniffed the little elf in true misery, and Hermione stroked his head.

"There, there," she said quietly. "Maybe – just for a little while – you could not mention your freedom, and – and don't wear so many hats – and your friends will soon forget what they have said to you. They are lovely people at heart, you know. I love all house elves."

Dobby cuddled closer to Hermione, and smiled through his tears. She looked into his great jade-like eyes, which spoke volumes, and smiled back.

"Miss is very kind," he whispered. "As kind as her great friend, Harry Potter."

Knowing how high Harry stood in Dobby's eyes, Hermione felt honoured.

"Dobby likes Miss very much," added Dobby, allowing himself to relax completely in Hermione's comforting arms. "Dobby feels safe with Miss." And, exhausted by his tears, Dobby's eyelids closed, and he fell asleep, cradled into her.

Hermione felt the frailty of Dobby's tiny body against her own, and held him even closer, uncertain of the feeling stirring within her.

"I love all house elves," she repeated in a whisper. "But Dobby…" she added, for her ears only, the words surprising even herself. "Dobby… I think I could love you a little bit more."

And as Dobby lay, trusting, in her arms, Hermione leant over, and gently kissed the elf's small, dry lips.

She sat like that for a long time, her eyes now closed too, and it was only when she felt Dobby's lips move against her own that she remembered where she was and what she was doing. But the elf's eyes were now half-open, and a strange expression was in them, a reflection of the suppressed, hardly acknowledged feeling Hermione suddenly realised she had held for the elf – all elves, really, but the cheerful, good-willed Dobby especially - for so long. As she stared down at him, Hermione felt herself become lost in those beautiful green orbs. I

t was only when she heard hesitant footsteps sound outside in the dank passageway, and Harry's voice echo uncertainly on the walls, saying, "Hermione! Are you down here? Nearly Headless Nick said he saw you go down this way… Hermione?" that she became fully conscious of what she was doing; kissing a house elf. She stiffened with embarrassment as she saw from the corner of her eye, Harry, staring into the room. But she did not move. As she felt Dobby's trusting arms around her, and his ugly face wrinkled in an adoring grin, and Harry's stunned face withdraw hastily from the room, Hermione just bent closer to the happy elf, holding him tight, and let herself forget her troubles for a long, long while.

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**A/N: Thank you, Mistress of Craziness for the Hermione/Dobby idea! Any other weird and wacky pairing ideas will be considered – the crazier the better! I do have several more, ahem, _interesting_ ideas myself ;) and I'll update whenever possible.**

**Reviews would be coolness itself, naturally.**


	4. Trelawney and Firenze

Disclaimer: Don't own Trelawney, Firenze, Magorian, oh heck, I don't own anything! Isn't that depressing?

**A/N: So I didn't manage to get Harry seeing them together this time, I tried but it just looked stupid. Thank you Schermionie for the idea for this great pairing! **

**Oh, and don't forget to review at the end!!**

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"Darkness…shadowy figures, but so indistinct, my Sibyll, what is wrong with you?" Professor Trelawney muttered to herself in frustration as she leant forward and gazed intently into a large crystal ball filled with a smoky, swirling mist. "What can it mean? Am I losing my Sight? I have lost everything else, I suppose … my authority…half my job…" a deep frown crinkled her forehead and her lip began to stick out in what looked distinctly like a pout. 

She peered irritably into the ball, her dozens of glittering necklaces swinging gently. The lamp-lit, incense-filled room grew stuffier and more heady with each passing minute.

"Ah, but wait…here, a new shape appearing…it looks like an animal, yes, perhaps a deer, or a horse…no, it is a man… oh for heaven's sake, Sybil!" She stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over the small table as she did so. "I need some fresh air," she declared to herself. "This is just getting ridiculous!"

And she swept across the circular room, her beads and overlarge glasses glimmering crossly, and made her way down the ladder. And she walked down towards the front doors and the Hogwarts grounds, with the vague idea of taking a stroll….

oOo

At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a young centaur stood gazing into the trees. His head was held high and his back was straight and proud, but his shoulders were tense. Firenze had left his herd for the company of humans, and knew well the punishment the other centaurs would give him should he be discovered outside the castle and within range of their arrows and slicing hooves.

But Firenze, though he was as wise as any centaur, was not content within the castle. His heart longed for the sunlit glades and rich, earthy air of his forest home, and while a room allotted to him in Hogwarts had been enchanted to seem like a woodland clearing, his soul was restless. He needed to feel the sun-warmed, crumbling earth beneath his hooves once more, needed to rest his head against the living wood of a young beech tree. He needed to be where all centaurs belonged. And that is the reason that Firenze was to be found that fateful summer's day, stepping quietly and gladly into the peace of the Forbidden Forest, just before Professor Sibyll Trelawney came sweeping across the Hogwarts grounds, her gauzy skirts trailing, her bangles tinkling, and looking as insubstantial as a silvery moth in the bright sunlight.

oOo

Firenze did not go deep into the Forest, for he was wary of being discovered by his own kind, and being unable to escape from the trees. He moved a little way into the trees and then stopped, shielded from view by a large beech. Slowly he rested his flank against the ancient tree and sighed. He was lonely, and missed the company of his own kind, but he knew that he had forfeited the right to live ever again in a centaur herd. So he stood alone, and he gradually sunk into peaceful reflection, as is typical of the centaur-kind. The soft piping of a tiny, unseen bird floated to his ears, and he listened to its music, smiling slightly.

He was completely unprepared to hear a voice cry out loudly and angrily on the other side of the tree. A crashing of twigs preceded a long string of swear words which only stopped when the alarmed centaur stepped out from behind the tree.

Professor Trelawney, who appeared to have caught one her many long scarves around a young sapling, squawked in fright as she saw the majestic form of Firenze appear in front of her, his longbow raised. An arrow was fitted and the string was already pulled taut

"Oh! Don't shoot, don't shoot!" she screamed, frantically fighting to disentangle herself from the tree, and Firenze paused.

"Forgive me," he said, lowering his bow. "I had thought you to be one of my own kind."

Professor Trelawney huffed. "I, a horse? I most certainly am not."

"No," said Firenze quietly, and with a hint of anger. "I see that. And neither am I."

"Well, whatever you call yourself, can't you go away and leave a body in peace?" said Trelawney peevishly, as she continued to struggle with her knotted scarf.

"I believe you are distressed," said Firenze. "Allow me." He took the scarf between his strong brown hands, and skillfully unwound it from the branches of the tiny ash tree.

Professor Trelawney did not thank him, but stood mulishly waiting for him to leave. Firenze stepped away from her.

"I would advise you, human, never to call another centaur a horse. Others would take the insult much more sharply than I. Now, I believe you wished for me to leave you, so good day." Firenze inclined his head, and began to move off.

Trelawney stared after him for a moment, then called out after his retreating back, "What are you doing here anyway?"

Firenze stopped walking, but did not turn around.

"I thought you could not leave the castle in case you were hunted down by others of your kind?"

Firenze stared into the darkened trees. "That is so," he said simply.

"Then how come you are out here, now?" Trelawney said, her voice rising higher with every word. "Why, you – you lied to the Headmaster! I bet you are going back to make a report to your herd – you are a spy!"

Firenze spun around, his hooves coming down with a crash upon a fallen branch. His eyes flashed in fury as he shouted, "Human, do you not know the meaning of manners? You insult me, you do not thank me for my aid, and now you brand me a spy! Do you not understand that I might simply long for peace, for the quiet of the woods where I have lived all my life? My life is in danger every moment I am in these trees; my herd will not hesitate to kill me should they ever realise that I am here! I am sorry if you feel I have intruded upon your teaching job –"

"Yes, you have," muttered Trelawney petulantly.

"- but unless you wish me dead, you must see why I have to remain in the castle!"

Trelawney looked slightly abashed. "I didn't mean I wanted you dead," she said. "And I see you are not a spy. Maybe I shouldn't have said that, but you, who laugh at my crystal-ball gazing, my art with cards and tea leaves and palm-reading…."

"I do not believe in your human methods of foretelling what is to come, said Firenze, his pale golden hair shining in the sun filtering through the sheltering leaves. "But equally you do not believe that the centaurs' age-old skill at star-gazing, our practice with herbs and fires and smoke-shadows."

There was a moment of strained silence, then Firenze sighed.

"I think, human,that we must have a truce." He moved towards Trelawney, and stretched out his hand towards her.

After a long moment of hesitation, Trelawney took it. And as those hardened, strong fingers clasped her own, Trelawney felt a frisson of some strange emotion suddenly shoot right through her, making her back tingle and the hairs on the back of her neck lift. She shook the centaur's hand slowly, and for rather longer than necessary. It was so long since she had had contact with another being…she was so rarely in the main castle, preferring to shut herself away in her tower room, and her pupils never stayed longer than they had to. In fact, Firenze was the first person – centaur, she corrected herself – she had touched for a very long time.

Finally, Firenze pulled his hand out of Trelawney's shaking grasp. "There is peace between us now?"

But his question was never answered. There was a sudden, swift whizzing sound and a hard _thunk_ and an arrow was suddenly quivering in the tree right behind Firenze's left ear. The centaur turned slowly, his torso tense and suddenly gleaming with sweat. Professor Trelawney gazed at it.

"Fraternizing with humans again, Firenze? Making _truces_ with humans? Well, well, well…"

Three centaurs moved out of the shadows, their bows raised and arrows ready.

"Do not do anything rash, Magorian," said Firenze quietly, addressing the nearest centaur, as he pulled the bowstring even tighter. But even as he spoke, Firenze was moving backwards in fear. He came up against a large log, which blocked his path, and with a sinking feeling of dread, Firenze realised that he was trapped. His heart thumped in his chest as he faced his former friends. He was of course brave, as a true centaur should be, but when one has three deadly-looking arrows trained directly on one's bare chest, well, one can be forgiven for feeling a little uncomfortable.

"Don't touch him!" Trelawney had found her voice. She looked slightly wild as she stood there, necklaces jangling and hair frizzing out behind her.

"Human, you would be wise to leave now before we kill you, too," snapped the second centaur. "This is centaur business." And his fingers tightened on the bow-string.

Firenze looked desperately around him, seeking some sort of escape, and found none. But just as the arrows seemed about to fly, Trelawney's voice rang out.

"_Impedimenta!_"

She swept her wand in a great arc with her shaking hand, and for a moment, the centaurs were frozen. Firenze instantly reared up, crashed through the trees, extended a hand which Trelawney grasped (with, of course, a great deal of pleasure) and helped her swing herself onto his back. As Magorian and the other two centaurs began to fight off the curse that bound them, Firenze swung round, cleared the great fallen log in one tremendous leap, and galloped away, out of the trees and into the sunlit grounds.

"You saved my life." The words fell simply from Firenze's lips as he turned his head, addressing Trelawney who had clung desperately around his waist as he had run through the forest. Now, oddly, she seemed reluctant to let go, even though they had come to a halt.

"Would you like to get down now?" asked Firenze, looking down at the slender womanly hands clasped around his stomach. But Trelawney had only heard the first thing that he had said.

"I saved your life - and you can save mine!" she breathed radiantly, looking younger than she had in years. She Saw now, clearer than she had in year, that she would no longer be a lonely woman, confined to a tiny room filled with soft light and sickly perfume.

"I do not understand you," said Firenze, his bright blue eyes fixed on Trelawney's face.

"Oh, my dear Firenze, I think you owe me a favour in return for me saving you back there," she said breathlessly.

"I owe you my life, Professor," said Firenze. "I must repay my debt. What do you wish from me?"

"Oh – just, perhaps – this…" said Trelawney, with a soft giggle, and suddenly, daringly she leant forward, and kissed Firenze's lips before the centaur had time to comprehend what was happening. One quick kiss, one startled intake of breath later, then she spoke.

"We are both misfits," whispered Trelawney to the silent, amazed centaur. "Laughed at by our own kind, ridiculed…it must be a Sign…

She bent forwards and kissed Firenze again, properly. She was slightly surprised, but full of joy, when the centaur did not pull away.

"I will tell the future for both of us," said Trelawney quietly, after a long moment. "I see us in many years time, still together…do you not have the same Vision?" Firenze made no reply but to pull her closer to him, and to bring their mouths into contact once more. And as the afternoon faded and twilight approached, two lonely souls, two outcasts, found love and harmony together, for ever and ever and ever, awwww…


End file.
